Shots of Muder
by ptessadactyl
Summary: It wasn’t gay unless balls touched. Muderface never let balls touch. Tons of Muderface crack pairings and one-shots because, well, the poor guy is always thrown under the bus.
1. Insinuated Insults

**Chapter Title**: Insinuated Insult  
**Pairing**: NathanxMuderface  
**Rating**: K  
**Warnings**: Terrible attempt at hinting slash.  
**Episode connection**: _Blueskok_.  
**Good God, WHY?!**: That little scene where everyone takes off their shirt. Yeah, Nathan getting mad at Murderface because he agrees he gained weight makes me lulz.  
**Disclaimer**: I do not own _Metalocalypse_, Brendon Smalls and Tommy Blancha do. I am merely using their characters for my own sick enjoyment.

**Shots of Murder**

* * *

::Insinuated Insult::

* * *

"So you think I'm fat?"

"Wha-?" Two large hands tugged him almost off his Doc Martin covered feet. Not to mention rudely cut him off.

"You said I'm fat." Hurt. It was all over his face. Deep frown, eyebrows pointed at his long nose and those vivid green eyes glaring. Especially now, as upclose as they were, he could proper see those glassy little orbs of anger. He hated being the apparent cause to that face. Why did he have to take everything he said seriously?

"Scho what?" An unkept eyebrow rose in sarcastic questioning. Smaller yet fatter hands grabbed onto thick wrists bulging with muscles and veins. His other eyebrow furrowed in pain from being forced on his toes. Damn that asshole for having four inches on him. "You called me a dogface. We had to do it. Big deal."

Fingers tightened around dark blue cotton and shook from pressure. Oh shit, what did he do wrong now? Damn his mouth. "You ass. You called me fat before that old guy told us to do it. You think I'm fat, you think I'm **fat**!" That intimidating frown quibbled. Never in the ten years of being in the band had those thin lips _quibbled_. That was the opposite of brutal.

Curled lips revealed the gap in teeth. "Don't blame me, you called yourschelf fat. I juscht agreed." Ah, he was pissy because of the truth.

With the alcohol and junk food diet he had been on since he was twenty-four of course he would gain weight. The bitch couldn't have a perfect footballer's body his entire life. Although, as stubby fingers ghosted over thick forearms down to side that now squished when his calloused fingertips dug into them, he kinda wished the lead singer had stayed that way.

"You're schuch a fucking lady sometimesch, Nathan." Destination reached. Those stubby bass playing fingers pinched the butt checks hidden by too-tight jeans. Instantly his heels touched ground as the pinchee slapped the groping fingers away. Too easy. "Don't worry, you're schtill nice to look at. Even with those thin lipsch."

"Fuck you, Murderface!"

"You'd like to!"

The vivid blush on Nathan's cheeks and growled threats made the bassist laugh even harder as he walked away.


	2. Daddy Issues

**Chapter Title**: Daddy Issues  
**Pairing**: PicklesxMuderface  
**Rating**: T  
**Warnings**: An angry redhead and slapping. Eeck.  
**Episode connection**: _FatherKlok._  
**Good God, WHY?!**: You know you loved Pickles beating the shit out of Muderface. Admit it.  
**Disclaimer**: I do not own _Metalocalypse_, Brendon Smalls and Tommy Blancha do. I am merely using their characters for my own sick enjoyment.

**Shots of Murder**

* * *

::Daddy Issues::

* * *

"Wargh! Git offa me, ya _jack_ass!"

Fingers tightened around the blue sweatbands that protected the drummer's wrist. This was way too easy. Once Toki got bored of tossing in punches and left the room, Pickles had no one to save him from the retaliation. With both weight and sobriety on his side it only took two swift moves to pin Pickles beneath him, his small body trapped between cargo short covered thighs.

"Thisch right here? Thisch isch the exactly reaschon why I didn't wanna fight you." Droplets of blood from his broken nose splashed onto the skin between the combed over dreds. Why, _why_ did everyone go for his already misshapen nose? In one jerky motion he pinned both of the drummer's small hand at the small of his back with his much larger hand. "You're schuch a fucking brat."

"So?" Pickles' lip curled back into a snarl, his head twisted painfully to the side so he could glare at the bass player, "Whatta ya gonna do 'bout it?" His glare faulted for a second as a few drops of blood splattered against his cheek and how viciously Murderface was looking at him. That look, oh, he did not like that look Murderface was giving him. Smiles did not look right on his mustached and gap-toothed face. The blood dribbling from his nose and into that freakish smile made him look even more crazed.

"Punisch you," Murderface stated matter-of-factly. Seconds later his hand made contact with the fleshy behind of the drummer. The loud smack resonated in the empty room on the DethPlane.

The look on Pickles face was comical to say the least, his mouth hanging open and eyes wide in disbelief. "Did ya just… Ya just spanked me." Oh god, those tight rocker jeans were so not helping the situation right now. The warmth of the large bass playing hand could easy be felt through the thin fabric.

"Damn schtraight I did." The hand made a second connection, then a third and a fourth. "If you're gonna act like a fucking kid I'm gonna to treat you like one."

"Yer a dickhea-aaAAH! Fuck, dat _hurts_!"

"Mmm, your tearsch only make my dick harder."

"Fuckin' perve-eert! Argh, _stop it_!"


	3. Candy Moutain

**Chapter Title**: Candy Mountain  
**Pairing**: Mentions of TokixMurderface.  
**Rating**: K+  
**Warnings**: Durhurhur. Cuteness.  
**Episode connection**: _None._  
**Good God, WHY?!**: Oh god, they took his kidneys. Ever since I found out CFO's name I've had this idea in my head.  
**Disclaimer**: I do not own _Metalocalypse_, Brendon Smalls and Tommy Blancha do. I am merely using their characters for my own sick enjoyment.

**Shots of Murder**

* * *

::Candy Mountain::

* * *

No one had the decency to knock before entering.

Any room.

Walking in on another band member taking a shit or getting in a quickie had become so normal that no one even flinched anymore. Like that one time that Pickles walked in on Toki slopping on Murderface's knob as if it was his job? Yeah. Didn't even notice it. Just walked right past and got a can of soda. Isn't the kitchen a funny place to get a bj?

It was safe to say that, when the sound of knuckles rapping on the door to his office in the distinct tune of 'Shave and a Haircut', Charles was mildly stunned. For the briefest of seconds his fingers stopped their constant tap-taping on his keyboard.

"Come in," he said slowly, eyeing the door to see exactly who decided to have manners today. One long haired brunette walked into the room, followed by the only other brunette in the Huas besides Charles himself.

The manager blinked.

The rhythm guitarist and bassist of the band never were alone. With each other. Together. Besides for their drunken hook-ups or Planet Piss, that silly little side band that Murderface reluctantly let Toki in. Ofdensen sincerely hoped was not the reason why the two were there.

Laptop forgotten at the moment Charles stared at the rather serious looking Toki and Murderface, who stood slightly behind the younger man. After a minute of silence went by Charles cleared his throat. "Is there a reason why you've come to see me?"

"Candies mountain."

A finely trimmed eyebrow rose over wire-rimmed glasses. "Excuse m-"

"Charlies!" Said manager jumped when Toki slammed his hands onto his desk, getting right up in his face. "Candies mountains, Charlie! We wants to goes to candies mountain!" Oh god, could his voice get any higher?

"What are you talking-" Charles cut himself off with a sigh of angry confusion, "There is no candy mountain."

"Shuns! Shuns the non-believers!" Toki hissed, shielding himself from the nonbeliever with his fingers posed in a cross. "Shhhhuuun!"

Charles made a face, like if he a bad taste in his mouth but was just slapped in the face with a fish. He somehow tore his eyes away from Toki's dancing form, looking like he was about to have a seizure, and stared at the silent bassist. The red light from his Dethphone blinked slowly in his direction.

"What that hell- Are you recording this? Why, what's candy mountain?" His head whipped to the joyous guitarist. The thumping of a migraine was slowly making itself apparent."Toki, stop. Stop dancing. Stop saying my name. Why are you saying it like that?"

"Charlies! Chaaa-aarlies! We's goings to candies mountain, Charlies!"

Muderface chuckled, making sure he was still recording as Toki pranced around the clearly annoyed manager's desk. "Charlesch, you clearly don't underschtand internet memesch."


	4. Liar, Liar!

**Chapter Title**: Liar, Liar!  
**Pairing**: PicklesxMuderface  
**Rating**: K+  
**Warnings**: Mentions of alcohol and mild swearing. Also, ANGST.  
**Episode connection**: _None._  
**Good God, WHY?!**: I'm a bitch and destroy the men I hold dear in my life. Murderface should do the same. Lulz.  
**Disclaimer**: I do not own _Metalocalypse_, Brendon Smalls and Tommy Blancha do. I am merely using their characters for my own sick enjoyment.

**Shots of Murder**

* * *

::Liar, Liar!::

* * *

"Yer lyin'."

It had to be a lie, it just had to be. Pickles hated being lied to. He trusted to much, trusted every last thing that was said to him. It was in his nature. He never lied so why should anyone else?

"Yer lyin' an' you know it."

The bottle of vodka was drained in seconds after it hit his chapped lips. In a fit of anger the empty bottle met floor, shattering it to unhappy little pieces just like he was shattering right now. Slivers of glass, ready to imbed themselves into unsuspecting feet if one of the Kloks didn't clean it up. Slivers of his beating heart, ready to imbed themselves into his unsuspecting ribcage if he wasn't careful enough.

"Please… Please tell me yer lyin'."

How odd was it to see streams of tears rolling down the redhead's face. Oh, he tried to hide it. Sniffled back snots, took a shaking deep breath, tried in vain to rub his eyes dry with the back of his clenched fist. Didn't help.

"Look me in the eye, William. Look me in the fuckin' eye an' tell me that."

A rough finger gripped the ginger stubbled chin, gently lifted it up. Behind the alcohol induced film Pickles could see the intensity at which the band's bass player looked at him, the gap-toothed jackass that he wanted so much. For a second the world stopped spinning. For a second Pickles thought what he said was honestly a lie.

"I don't love you."

Murderface never lied.


	5. Cluck!

**Chapter Title**: Cluck  
**Pairing**: SkwisgaarxMurderface  
**Rating**: K+  
**Warnings**: Murderface being awkwardly adorable.  
**Episode connection**: _None._  
**Good God, WHY?!**: Pickles likes swans, Toki and Nathan like cats. What unbrutal animals do Skwis and Muderface like? A-dur.  
**Disclaimer**: I do not own _Metalocalypse_, Brendon Smalls and Tommy Blancha do. I am merely using their characters for my own sick enjoyment.

**Shots of Murder**

* * *

::Cluck::

* * *

"This ams dildos, Murderfaces. Why dids we's come heres? Ack!"

Skwisgaar narrowly caught the small yellow ball of fuzz that was aimed to bean him in the head. Between his elongated, delicate hands a muffled chirping could be heard. Blue eyes narrowed dangerously at the chuckling bass player.

"It'sch funny, you know?" That gap-toothed smirk never left his face. Murderface leaned on the outside of the fenced in pen a safe distance away from the unmoving Swede sitting cross legged in the middle. Around him was a sea of yellow fuzzies, pecking at his expensive boots and clucking in excitement.

The severity of the glare that Skwisgaar sent Murderface was lessened by the little fuzzies that began to try to hop on his shoulders. "No, I ams not of the knowings. Tells mes, what's is funnies?" The fuzzy trapped between his hands finally poked its small little head through the gaps in his fingers. It's head twitched in every direction ignoring the sneer of discontent it was getting.

"You're kinda like a baby chicken. With your blonde hair, you never schut up and if you squeeze too hard," the lone fuzz ball that had wondered next to the bassist was quickly scooped up. The stubby fingers that plucked at the bass strings held the baby fuzz ball firmly and squeezed. "You schit."

"Gah!" Even thought the stream of baby chicken poop didn't even come close Skwisgaar couldn't help but squeal. "This ams it, we's never be comings backs to this animals conkensations camps agains."

"It'sch called a, ugh petting zoo. Just schut up and play with the fuzzies. I'm goin' ta feed the goatsch."


End file.
